A Tutoring Session sans Etiquette
by ejunkie
Summary: A small story around the adventures of a pretty, young transfer student with the strangely enigmatic characters of the University of Toronto. An ItaSakuDei, which began as an Omake of Clay.
1. Naptimes

_A foreign exchange student falls asleep despite the best efforts of her Canadian tutor, and has the strangest of dreams. AU, DeiSaku._

_An AU omake– for the readers and reviewers of Clay, although you don't necessarily have to read Clay to follow this._

_**Disclaimer: Kishimoto-sama is the sole owner of Naruto and it's characters – I just subvert and play with them. ;D**_

**AN/** I wanted to thank my reviewers of Clay for their comments, which encouraged me to finish this short omake that sprang from the middle of the first chapter of my story Clay and took on a small life of it's own.

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><p><strong>a TUTORING SESSION sans ETIQUETTE<strong>

_'They may think you're crashing, and that you're out of control. You just know that you are _living_.'_

"_OW!"_

There was a blow, sharp but neat, across the back of her head, indenting her skull with what she would later positively identify as the hard side of a plastic binding. It hurt. But what she could not comprehend was where it had come from, _or why._

"Jesus woman - wake the fuck up, ehh!"

There was a sound as if a throat had been cleared, hard, and then an emphasized: "Do you want my damn help or not, _ninja?"_

Dazed, jade eyes open with difficultly, flicking awkwardly from the thinly painted bed –no, those were sheets of paper-desk in front of her to meet the keen, angled gaze, somehow inches from her own. The eyes bent low; meeting her bewilderment with the quirk of an amused brow, before glancing pointedly back at the scattered sheets on the table.

_Her_ scattered sheets, on the hard, laminated wood of_ her_ table. Where she had _fallen asleep_ during their discussion of Da Vinci's earliest 'accomplishments'.

Post-early art history seminar and vigorous sculpting class at the local gym, the information was too much, her period of lucidity ending quickly as her head slipped steadily down to her newly promoted 'sleeeps place-e-_y_'.

An impatient sigh breathed behind her.

The insulted tutor, bemused and indignant, slid his hand out into her trajectory, catching the soft weight of sleep-addled head - and the pink-haired woman's immediate jolt back upright, eyes clouded and desperately trying to maintain focus, was _hilarious_ enough to help him forgive her. Dazed green blinked confusedly back into clear blue, slightly crossed in such a way that the patient man had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, before, following an impulse, he reached forward to grasp her wrist, fingers gentle as he slowly tapped the small palm to the woman's forehead.

"_Idiot, _ehh_."_

Her teeth clicked together in surprise, as Sakura attempting to focus on her tutor's movements, but it was too late to pull away, and his hand enclosed hers further. Angling his head until he was sure he had her attention, he nodded towards the paper. Green eyes followed mutely, before blinking at the open page in front of here where her finger perched, petulantly, on a paragraph.

"It was around where here your 'studious note taking' fucked up, or down, if you want to speak literally, and you crashed."

The finger was more insistent, his sleeve making sweeping movements across the page as her finger softly made concentric circles across the page, as if finding it's bearings. "And this was where I was when you started mumbling about ninjas. Nearly had us thrown out, actually. And- you are bleeding."

His hand left hers, the strands of blonde sweeping out of her vision as Sakura blinked at his last statement, confused as the words brought her abruptly back to the memories of her dream; and the dark green, forest, blood, _clay_-

Something wet trickled down the inside of her nose, and with a hiccup, she sneezed into her hands, blinking blearily at the strands of red that laced her palms. Ah. So she was.

A slice of white obscured her vision, that blinking up revealed itself as a small white handkerchief, embroidered with a small Canadian flag in the corner, and as she watched, it fell smoothly to her lap until it covered the offending red glare.

"Ew. Go clean yourself up, than go home, eh. We'll continue your tutoring tomorrow. Seriously, eh."

His hand went to her shoulder to squeeze it lightly to curb her protest as it rested on her tongue, the clear blue gaze dropping to her height once more as the man's face split into an easy grin, the white glare of his teeth as bright as the broad, white embossed letters on his garish red jumper: 'TORONTO 2011'.

Finding humour somehow in the situation as his tutee sat, half-awake and _leaking_, his ease was infectious, somehow causing her mouth to break into a grin back as he angled her carefully upright, large hands smoothing calmingly down her back in quick sweeps.

"None of my tutees have ever failed their Art History Module – and your sleepy, sick _ass_ won't be the one that breaks that streak, ehh?"

The verbal tick that pronounced the stereotype – although she had refused to believe it before she had been exchanged with the University of Toronto – was endearing, and against her better forming judgment, Sakura couldn't help the trust that she felt in his words. She was regaining her bearings as she took a breath, eyes closing briefly as she finished clearing her head, and the stress of her situation bore down on her once more.

_This damn course._ The damn prerequisite of credits in the humanities that had to be fulfilled before graduation had caused her _no end _of grief. Ignoring the urge to _just_ say '_screw it'_ to the whole thing, I'm studying biomedicine for a _reason_; she stumbled to her feet, cloth pushed gratefully against her nose.

Her fluster increasing, she missed the small grin that split her companions face, as dark eyes carefully followed the delicate woman as she made her way down the hall. She was, by far, the _strangest_ woman he had ever met.

Which suited him perfectly, as he had always, by rule, taken a _fascinated_ interest in the strange.

"I'll see you soon,_ Ninja."_

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><p><strong><em>AN Continued: Regarding clay._**

_Of all the files on my computer of unfinished fiction (not for lack of ideas, but because of my seemingly temporal style that doesn't seem to want to settle) Clay, which was started last summer as a short one shot, was something I felt as if I needed to finish and set up for continuing parts because of my love for this couple. It is in need of and will undergo editing because of the many different styles and my constant roadblock, the level of 'personal' third person I go in to. I've never been one for long chaptered stories (I have a long one shot in my files of a KisaSaku, written from around the latest development of Kisame in the manga) but I want you guys to know that I won't give up, and I hope I won't disappoint you as I try to work through my writers dilemmas and figure out just –how- I'm going to write this thing. X'D_


	2. Introductions

**DRUNKEN BEGINNINGS**

_A small story around the adventures of a pretty, young transfer student with the strangely enigmatic characters of the University of Toronto. ItaSakuDei._

**DISCLAIMER**: Naruto is the property of Kishimoto-sensei.

**AN/ **I WAS NOT GOING TO CONTINUE THIS OMAKE. BUT THEN THIS HAPPENED. This will be updated sporadically. _

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><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO: The dangers of student halls and alcohol.<strong>

It was after the fifth ring of her bell that she had decided that she clearly had no choice in the matter of whether she could stay in her bed. The persistent obnoxiousness of the continued ring – yet somehow so endearing so that she had no choice in the matter but to smile at her 'Canadian friend's antics – _Naruto_, of course it would be him- would give the applicator a slap, of course, but she honestly couldn't say that with all the stress and self-imposed isolation of the past couple days, the impromptu visit wouldn't be appreciated. The smile tweaked up the corners of her lips, before she had replaced the heavy genetics book back into the puddle of coffee that had already stained it, and prepared herself for welcoming visitors.

The angry buzz tapered off abruptly, as Sakura leaned farther sideways into soft fabric, cuddling deeper into the warmth of her blankets, until the frame of the cheap sofa groaned under the strain of the movement- until she fell with a thump, her sharp yelp muffled in the mess of cloth and paper. Fuck.

The darkness of the small-enclosed nook of a room was peaceful and close, the comfortable mess of her space lit warmly by the slips of yellow light that managed to escape the curtain boundaries from outside. A sigh slipped through her teeth, genuine and quiet. She really was reluctant to move and disrupt this peace; it was rare that her roommate had left on a long enough obligation to keep her away for any length of time, and the chance to be herself, completely, was a luxury she was reluctant to abandon it.

A curious eye peaked at the other end of the room and the doorway hidden behind the shape of the wardrobe, a grin snaking it's way across too honest features. You know, she really didn't feel like getting up. Maybe she'd stay perched at the edge of bed, and wait for the caller to give up the ghost and leave.

However, the sight that had been presented to her once she'd rounded the corner at the seventh ring, thin jacket wrapped hastily around herself, shivering at the colder temperature, the shadow inches within the door was one she did not recognise.

There was a small intake of breath, that must have came from her, mouth opened fractionally, her body useless and still with the flood of chemical warfare that ignited, against her minds better judgement, locking her muscles into trembling place as if she had no self-preservation instinct at all- and it seemed all she could do to watch as the shadow stumbled with the sound, and made a turn to face her, dazed diluted blue peering out blearily from between long lanky strands of blonde. There was a short, guttural cough, before the man had satisfactorily, it seemed, completed the short turn it took to face her fully, the stumbling gait of his miniature, lanky form coming to a haphazard halt before her. The shape blinked at her.

She did not recognise this man. Her fingers twitched towards the shape of a fist she wanted to make, finding her voice halfway through the mouthing of the words, her ability to breathe still hampered as she fought to remove the weight of the chemical warning tricking her muscles as they flooded her system into constricting instinctive fear- "me, excuse me, just what-"

"WHAT THE FUC- WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM? W-WEASEL, WEASEL, ITACHI, THERE'S SOMEONE HERE IN TH-"

"Wha- YOUR ROOM? Why did you ring the bell if you thought this was your room? This is MY room- and just what do you think you're doing in-"

She was cut off by a snarl, her indignant glare missed as the intruder wheeled around and shoved his head into the hall, half-growling to his invisible comrade.

"'TACHI, SERIOUSLY MAN. CHICK. IN ROOM. WHAT THE FUCK-"

Her eyes narrowed, lips pursing as she managed a step closer, anxiety melting into that more comforting sense of confusion. And fury, of course. "-This is my room, actually, just what the hell are you-"

"-Pink hair and all, man – she one of your cheap hookers?"

Her tight grip on her already exhausted patience slipped, and with a neat step to the side, her hand had formed a tight fist, whistling through her momentum as she lunged towards the blonde smudge before her doorway. The arch of her boot sloping calmly as she aimed her next step with grim determination, pulling on her most recent training at the dojo as she swung back her hand in an arc that would increase the momentum of the sucker punch, fuck, she knew this was going to hurt, and she'd never get her hand to heal properly – but this felt so good.

Allowing her victim a moment of appreciation as her stance dropped lower, her muscles coiling in preparation, she set her teeth in a smart grimace, before she let loose.

Shwick.

She didn't have the time to think through the possible reasons behind the change in sound before the reason itself – or himself, rather- made himself apparent, as following through with the momentum of the diverted swing, she collided full force with a warm, hard chest, her grip on her fist slacking to rest just as the hand that had swatted her strike had grasped her chin, angling her face upwards immediately.

Deep, almost black irises bore into hers with intense ferocity, and for just a second, -and she could almost kick herself if her limbs weren't suddenly somehow confined against her body- she was 'lost in those eyes'. Forced into them, more like.

"I. Don't. Know. Her." Each word was spoken with a deliberate, calm effort in a deep smooth voice that she reconised, somehow, but not clearly enough to stop the frantic race her heart took against her mental screams to poke those dark eyes out.

"I don't know you either, but you reek of alcohol and are drunk, and I want you the fuck out of my room."

Her whisper hadn't meant to be so loud that he could hear her insults, but with her beating heart firmly lodged in her throat, it was all she could do to get the point across. A change of expression registered across the strong features, before his face was removed, dimmed eyes scanning both the stricken-drunk features of his companion to the complete entirety of the door. Finally finding focus on the embossed, black print numbers, the narrowed black eyes carefully read the proclaimed message, the read it carefully twice more. 'ROOM 255'.

Annoyance morphed the somewhat pale expression subtly again, setting an aching jaw into the 'grinding' position that he always seemed to adopt when he went out with this particular acquaintance.

"Deidara, thish ish not our room."

The name struck a note with her, and then it hit her, slowing the frenetic racing beat of her heart for a second out of pure shock. _Deidara?_

"_Deidara_?"

With beguiled shock, the blond haired man looked back towards the pretty pink door, brow furrowing in concentration. His lips moved as he moved the numbers in a low mumble around his mouth, as if trying to taste them. 255… what was it about that number that seemed so familiar. The image of a long, complimentary image swam to the forefront of his mind, a pretty, somewhat punkish girl with dyed pink hair smiling up at him from the corner. _Aaah._ His easy grin grew lopsidedly, stumbling as he lost his balance as he leaned back unsteadily to rest against the door. "'thought this door looked familiar, eh..."

A small wave dragged his eyes back up to a bright smile meeting his with a gleam of clean, pretty teeth, her attention flattering him as his grin widened haphazardly in return. Damn, if he had known she was this _cute_ he would have met her sooner... " You were meant to be my... art history mentor, right? And you never showed. But you've stood outside this room?"

"…'Tachi, thish is not our room."

"You stood _outside_, but didn't come in for the classes I paid you for?"

"'Tachi, we should leave."

Fists clenching, then unclenching, then clenching again, her hair swung in a pink arc as she shook her head exhaustedly. The building fury was breaking any and all reservations she may have had against the use of _violence, _even against her better judgement after what had happened the previous time she had attacked. She would not be attacking the dark haired man, anyway. "Didn't _you_ two break into _my_ room? Oh no, _you _are going nowhere-"

Her eyes flew open as, with a smart click, her door shut neatly, leaving her the sole occupant of her own room once more, inconspicuous and innocent, as if no one had ever invaded it in the first place. Muffled laughter accompanied the muffled clump of footsteps down the hall. Her raised fist lowered slowly as tired eyes examined the empty entryway, before finally falling limply to her side. Stepping forward, she clicked the lock shut with a smart clack.


End file.
